A/N: Thank you once again for your kind reviews! They've really encouraged me!

Chapter 3

He couldn't breath. Matthew felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut, knocking all the air out of his body. A physical pain seemed to pierce his whole being, and he fought the urge to vomit. After several attempts, he managed to speak.

"Who?" he choked out. In an instant he regretted the question, wondering whether ignorance would not be more comforting. But he had to know.

"Kemal Pamuk," Mary answered, her voice barely above a whisper. Matthew frowned in confusion.

"The... The Turkish gentleman?" Matthew recalled the man, though it had been well over a year since his brief visit, and he had barely spoken a word to him. He felt sickened as he remembered that this was because Pamuk had seemed far more interested in Mary. "But, he –"

"Yes." Speaking now, Mary felt as though some other power that was not herself was speaking the words through her. She could hear her own voice coming from her lips, yet it seemed entirely disconnected from herself. "He died." She breathed slowly, composing herself. "He died in my bed, Matthew."

Matthew had to grasp the nearby mantelpiece to steady himself. Bowing his head, he screwed his eyes tight shut, desperately hoping that this was some terrible dream from which he could awaken. Several anguished moments passed, and no relief came. No matter how hard he tried to block them out, images of Mary and Pamuk, entwined together, taunted his mind's eye. He turned his face away to hide the single tear that had escaped down his cheek. Gripping the mantelpiece until his knuckles were white, Matthew's quiet voice shook with emotion as he spoke.

"Mary," he could barely bear to speak her name. "Are you telling me that... That you are no longer a – a –" he grimaced.

"No!" Mary exclaimed. Her heart sank as she watched him; she could only imagine his disgust at her, at her character, her behaviour, her concealment of her lack of virtue up until now. He clearly could not even bear to look at her. "No, I am, still. He promised me that I would be." How ridiculous that promise seemed now.

Mary's face crumpled, tears flowing down her cheeks. Why had she told him? Why had she brought this pain upon them both? She only hoped that he would leave now with no regret, for she knew he could not regret a loss that he had deserved better than to have.

Matthew tried to stop himself. He knew that to ask was only to twist the knife in the raw wound of his soul, but he had to know, to dispel the images plaguing his mind. The truth could hardly be worse than what he could not help but imagine.

"Tell me what happened." He turned to look directly at Mary, bracing himself. Her eyes met his. She drew a breath sharply as she read all the emotions etched on his face, twisted in distress. She let out a quiet sob as she observed his tear-stained cheeks. The reflecting despair which was evident on her own face did not pass him by. As his piercing blue eyes bored into her soul, she opened her heart.

"He came into my bedchamber, that night," Mary began. Her voice, no more than a whisper, trembled as she forced herself to re-live the event. "He came unbidden, and undesired. He had approached me after dinner, if you recall, when I told him plainly that nothing could possibly happen between us." For the first time, Mary began to see how wrong the whole thing had been. Yes; she had told him to leave her alone, she had not asked or wanted him to come in to her. "I don't know how he even found his way to my room, but there he was. My first thought was to scream, and I thought I would, but he said that him being in my room alone would cause scandal." Mary remembered the sick panic that had gripped her that night, and it began to swell again as she recalled it. Matthew's face remained impassive. "So I remained silent," she continued. "I didn't know what to do. I freely admit that I was attracted to him," Matthew winced imperceptibly at her admission. She continued. "He persuaded me that it would be alright, that no-one need know. I was curious, I suppose, and he seemed so sure of himself." Mary began to weep once more, unsure of how to continue. "He kissed me, and... In truth, we had barely begun when... When –" Mary broke down as she recalled the shock of Pamuk's untimely death.

Matthew watched her as she spoke, and as she wept a small seed of sympathy began to grow amidst the sorrow and anger churning within him. He paced towards the window, feeling suddenly as though the room were too small, closing in. His thoughts raced, in a vain attempt to comprehend his own feelings. One question still burned in his mind.

"Mary, why did you tell me?" The questioning despair on his face broke Mary's heart. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing, had not considered just how deeply the truth would cut him.

"Because you deserved to know the truth," Mary responded quietly, calmly trying to convince herself, as well as him. "Matthew, when I could not give you an answer to your proposal, you believed that it was because I did not care for you. You deserved to know that you should not have cared for me, for I am unworthy of your love." She sighed quietly, resignedly accepting her loss.

"I don't know what to do." Matthew spoke wearily, shaking his head. He felt utterly drained of all strength and thought. How could he comprehend this, or deal with it? What was he supposed to do?

"I can claim no innocence, and I can ask for no forgiveness," Mary said resolutely. "Though it would break my heart, you must go if you feel that you must. But go in the comfort of knowing this: that my hesitation was in no way due to a lack of affection on my part, simply my hesitance to admit to you how unworthy I was. You must not look back with regret over me, that I could not marry you; you are free to find a woman who is worthy of your virtue."

There, she had done her duty and released him. Though her heart was pounding and her breathing erratic, she felt oddly calm, as though a great burden had been lifted from her. She had been entirely honest with him, told him the whole truth, had opened her very soul to him as she would to no other. She looked away from him, trying to picture his handsome face in her mind as it had been when he laughed and joked with her, not as it was now. She didn't want her last vision of him to be his face contorted in anger and disgust. Closing her eyes, she whispered. "I do love you Matthew... Goodbye."

And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, escaping before she became engulfed by the overwhelming sorrow in her breast.

Matthew remained dumbstruck as he watched her walking out of the door. His eyes stung with tears and a blind panic began to spread through him, warring against the conflicted torment of his heart. He had never felt pain such as this. He was sickened, horrified, wounded by her admission. He felt angry, yet the seed of sympathy battled against his anger. Her words spun round and around his mind, had she wanted it? Had she encouraged it? Did she regret it? Yet above all this, one feeling rose; one stronger than the rest, making it difficult to breath. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. He watched her walk out of the door, and desperation rose like a wave at the prospect of never seeing her again. It overbore all his pain, all his hurt, and he could not prevent himself from running after her. No matter how much she hurt him, he could not let her go, not if there was the slightest chance that she loved him back.

"Mary!" her name tore raggedly out of his throat as he caught up to her in the hallway, grasping her elbow. She spun around to face him, her dark eyes wide in surprise, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes searched his face and his searched hers, the communication deeper than any words that could pass between them. Matthew began to weep openly, unable to process all the emotion pouring through his soul. Desperately gripping her arms, he begged her one question. "Tell me truthfully Mary, I beg you. Do you love me? Truly?" His eyes pleaded with her.

Mary's heart felt as though it were about to explode. She had never before felt such a swell of emotion in her life. She could read in his face everything he felt, and she was overwhelmed. She could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart in her ears.

"Yes," she wept. "Surely now you must know I do!"

Matthew's hands moved from her arms to gently hold her face, his thumbs brushing her tears, not caring about those pouring from his own eyes. He shook his head slowly, unable to put into words all that he felt. His eyes flickered across her beautiful face, and he knew that he could never in his life love anyone as he did her.

He bent his head suddenly and kissed her. Their lips met, fiercely, each pouring their heart and soul into the kiss. They clutched each other, their tears of mutual sorrow and joy mingling, as though they would lose each other forever if they let go now. Mary leaned against him, afraid that her legs would buckle under her and give way. After an age of the most sublime bliss she had ever felt, she reluctantly pulled her lips away, hands still clutching him desperately.

"But Matthew," she breathed shallowly, raggedly. "I don't understand, you must hate me after what I've done!"

"No, Mary," he shook his head, eyes narrowing in determination. "I love you. I know you didn't intend what happened. I can't pretend that the knowledge doesn't hurt me more than I can say, but it's not enough to allow me to let you walk out of my life, if you love me." She nodded fiercely, barely daring to believe that he could truly love her that much. "All I know is that I can't bear the thought of being without you." He grasped her tightly, willing her to believe him.

"I know, I feel the same," Mary allowed herself a tiny smile. "I'd be so terribly bored without you here, Matthew." He smiled weakly back at her, briefly, before his eyes narrowed in seriousness.

"Mary, there is just one thing." She nodded in acceptance; she would do anything that he asked of her. "Just... I would ask that we never speak of Pamuk again. I'm sorry, but it's too painful."

Mary blinked once, contemplating. She considered her words carefully before speaking.

"I'll be honest, Matthew," she spoke slowly. "You must not ask me to pretend that it never happened, because I can't do that. You must understand that though it pains me, I wouldn't be who I am had it not happened." Her eyes searched his, willing him to understand. "It opened my eyes to a lot of things. I'm not even sure that I was capable of feeling, of loving, of understanding myself, before it happened. And so we must not pretend that it never occurred. But," she assured him, "if you wish, then it shall not be spoken of." Relief spread through her as he nodded slowly.

As if to prove his acceptance of her answer, his response was to gather her into his arms and kiss her once more. They embraced passionately, each pressing themselves to the other as if to mould themselves into one being if they could. Their joy overflowed, and they poured what they could not put into words into their sweet kiss.

Without warning, the front door opened. It took a second of realisation before Matthew and Mary snapped apart in shock, and their eyes were met by the equally shocked face of Matthew's mother.

Isobel stared in disbelief, taking in the sight before her. She had not missed their passionate embrace, and was not quite sure whether to feel disturbed or exuberant to see her son in such a manner. In the deafening silence, she observed the pair's tear-stained cheeks; even Matthew's, her heart panged for her son. Yet she could also see the hints of a smile on each of their faces. Her eyes passed from one to the other. Mary lowered her head, ashamed, and Matthew coughed, touching his lips as if to hide the evidence of their kiss.

"Mother!"

"Well," Isobel spoke quietly. "I must say I was not expecting to see that when I returned home!" Her voice was level, her tone unreadable.

"Mother, I –" Matthew desperately stammered to try and excuse themselves.

"Matthew," his mother interrupted him swiftly, smiling. "Am I to understand, from the display I just witnessed, that things are finally settled between you?"

Matthew's eyebrows rose at the lack of rebuke, his mouth open in surprise. He looked towards Mary, his heart softening immeasurably, and he suddenly realised that they had not discussed the most important thing. He looked back towards his mother quickly.

"Might you just excuse us one moment, Mother?" He turned back towards Mary, lightly grasping her elbow, leaning down to speak quietly into her ear. "My darling, I must ask you one last time." His soft blue eyes met hers. "Do you love me enough to spend your life with me? Will you marry me?"

A smile of pure joy spread across Mary's face, and her eyes shone.

"Yes, I do. I will." She whispered to him.

As she gazed at her love, happiness spreading through her soul in sweet relief, Matthew turned back to Isobel, his eyes shining with joy.

"Yes, Mother. Mary and I are engaged."

The End!

A/N: Well, there we are. I just hope that I did them justice! I'd love to know what you thought, reviews massively appreciated.

Thank you for taking the time to read it :)